


Nameless

by Ruth_McKean



Category: Death Note
Genre: Angst, M/M, Matt-centric fic, Mello is a jerk, POV First Person, Past Child Abuse, References to Addiction, Religious Symbols, Scars, canon spoilers, dissing god, matt exists BECAUSE of Mello (it's Canon), that's canon too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-05
Updated: 2013-11-05
Packaged: 2017-12-31 13:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1032450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruth_McKean/pseuds/Ruth_McKean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He turned that curse into a blessing, made my forsaken title into an identity again. I exist not only for him, but because of him."</p><p>A devastating decision, another betrayal, and yelling at god.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Desu Noto, nor do I profit from the use of their awesomeness here.

I never knew that sex could be so perfectly wretched and still be bloody fantastic.

I never knew until I was inside of him, having him moan underneath me, screaming at me not to stop, not to pause or even to weaver in speed; unless it was to hurry it up and pound him harder. It's hard not to shudder at the thought of those nights and days; spent pressing him hard into the mattress, hoping for release from hell via his moans.

I used to believe that his angelic, crystal clear, oasis-blue eyes were salvation. Enough to make me _worth_ something, and enough to make it mean _something._

Christ, I was still little _Matty_ to him; his little innocent side-kick who had never really _been_ innocent.

I was used to many vulgar things before I came to Wammy's, and I found that the fine layer of dirt that I had accumulated on my very being—with the help of my _ever-so-pleasant_ parents—was harder to scrub away than the sprinkling of blood that had covered my body after the last _incident._ Even now, I can't help but feel my chest freeze over as these memories flit by my deceivingly innocent green eyes. I guess that's what always got Mello every time. The way I gasped his name as I poured into him; spilling my very tainted soul into his lithe body.

Maybe he truly believes- _believed-_ there was something worth saving in me… and here I am, _saved._

I laugh at the thought, taste bitter tears on my face and then it hits me.

_'I am a fool.'_

Or maybe _he_ was the fool? I guess he should've put his damn hero fixation to better use, _why save me?_ Why save the _nameless nobody_?

Because that's all I am now that he is gone.

Back to square one.

I remember one night in particular amongst the many; tangled limbs, sheets rumpled at the bottom of our bed, clothes strewn about. His pretty blonde hair, caught in my goggles strap, and there was laughter and a need to be carefree in each other's arms.

He smiled into my mouth, kissing me softly, and then he said it...

" _Mail."_

And it had sounded so _perfect_ coming from his lips, whispered into my ear...it made me pause and a soft sob came out of my mouth, completely unbidden and strangely appropriate.

We were silent the rest of the night, save our groaning and nonsensical whispers spoken as we flew over the edge of an endless cliff, the bottom always catching us off guard and forcing us to cling to each other tighter, hoping for more and yet cringing at the level of _need_ we both had within us...even after our deceitful lives.

That fucking need to be _something_ , even if it was just to some nameless nobody...but then again, Mello had called me by name and in that moment I had felt that feeling.

I was complete then.

Don't get me wrong, it was wonderful to hear him speak that he loved me some time after that night. But by then I already knew, I knew it as he spoke the one word I had come to dread.

My name.

He turned that curse into a blessing, made my forsaken title into an identity again.

I exist not only _for_ him, but _because_ of him.

And I sound so pathetic to myself; this is not the cool Matt who can hack like no other, not the badass kid who smokes and stands out in a crowd, from clothes that make me look both alluring and so very _un_ approachable (or so Mello would say, but then again, what did _he_ ever know of fashion? That leather-wearing freak) I don't sound like the boy who came from a broken, twisted home and had done so many fucked up things just to keep his head above the water...

No, that sad boy died when he stepped into Mello's first embrace that smelled like home: _Chocolate, leather and sweat_. Not dirty sweat, but almost the smell of Mel's passion and determination and anger even. He smells- _smelled?-_ like victory, and it made me feel higher than any other hit I had ever taken before. I thought I was in fucking heaven, and when he opened his mouth and cussed me out for staring so long as his pretty self, I just knew then that God had a _sick_ sense of humour.

What a _bastard!_

But I love him, loved him- _loved?_...fuck.

I think it all over as I sit in our apartment, clutching one of his old Wammy shirts to my chest. From a time when he still wore some clothes that weren't all leather, his badass image not complete…and yet, he _still_ struck fear in the hearts of many.

I think I'm hoping for some sort of sick, fucking happy ending tonight.

But I know it’s hopeless, even as he kissed me goodbye, told me it would be all right in the end.

He said my name again, and that was when I knew that _something_ was up.

It was only ever spoken in times of desperation or love and our final embrace was not supposed to be something like this. We had our final night and day for those kinds of words. These were not the simple extra-goodbyes I expected and the look in his eyes as he stared at the floor…I had whispered his name back then; the letters sticking in my mouth, making them come out low and throaty. A choked and whispered, " _Mihael."_

And that was when he flinched and looked me deep in the eyes and an apology was there, and I thought for a moment he was apologizing for _stealing_ my life, and not being the redemption I always viewed him as. My saviour.

_'Fucking bastard.'_

Then I felt a sting in my neck, and the woozy feel of a sedative floating through my experienced veins.

"No, _No!_ Mello. Please, _no."_ The words were painful, my head spinning and my goggles strap suddenly felt like too much pressure in my hair. I was losing my mind, and my life, and _my Mello_ all at once. I tried to stop, I tried so hard to grab at you, a-and for a moment I thought you would stay.

Then you whispered my name again, low into my ear. Promises of love renewed, eternal love. And my life, you said you couldn't kill me like this, and there was a note of guilt in his inflection.

Good. _Good._

I feel a bit happy at the thought that he was feeling bad for ruining me completely and leaving me behind— _again._

The news on the television showed my sad-excuse for a body double getting shot up and I swear I could feel every bullet that was _meant for me_ as they entered the poor sod. Then shortly after, a news report stating that the Kira-bitch's body had been found in the back of a burning truck, heart failed and crispy. And I laughed a bit then, because they mentioned how she had probably suffered the effects of the fire for some time before Kira had been _kind enough_ to off his loyal bitch.

They mentioned a body in the front of the truck, broken and disintegrated beyond recognition. That's when my laughter turned hysteric; a sad little crucifix had been found outside of the truck a bit away, as if it had been tossed away in the hopes it would _survive_ the flames.

It was then that I lost my hope, and my life, in that damned little cross.

I didn't always see it, but Mello _always_ wore his damn crucifix.

It had been small and sharp, blood red jewels encrusted in it and the image of a crown of thorns etched into its top.

_Sacrifice._

_Sacrifice for those who were both innocent and sinful._

Like _me_.

In Mello's goddamned, oasis eyes.

" _I hate you."_ I whisper into the endless dark of the apartment, arms numb and that frozen chest syndrome back again.

 _'Look mom, you have competition.'_ Not that she would care; she was a little too _dead_ to care for her " _sweet little burden's"_ newest betrayer.

But Mello had always loved me, and it _almost_ makes me feel warm to realize that Mel's saved me again. But freezing reality comes along, and douses me with the cold truth; another debt that will never- _can never-_ be repaid.

My chest squeezes tightly and for a moment I foolishly believe— _but no, it’s not a heart attack—_ so I pray for Kira to take it away from me, whatever is left of the husk beating sluggishly in my chest.

To end it _for_ me, cause I am too indebt to destroy Mello's final gift to me.

My _life_ , my _pitiful_ life.

"I wish you would've released me, Mello. Least you could've done _, you git."_ I can hear him scoffing in my head, laughing at my tone and defiance. Usually he'd laugh and pinch my cheek a bit, grinning like a demon and snarling that I was "just the _cutest_ thing he had ever fucked."

I thought it was nice, in a Mello _ish_ sort of way.

I had heard _worse_ compliments in my short life.

I would laugh now if it didn't require more warmth...warmth I cannot spare.

It's here that I wish I could say that the desolate feeling left me as he walked in through the door, waiting to show me his best gift ever (far better even than the last one he had given) _himself._

But he ** _didn't_** show up, his scarred face **_didn't_** appear before me.

His loud footsteps and lithe, leather-clad body **_didn't_** slink up to me on the couch and begin to seduce and complete and control me like every other time.

Because he was **_dead._**

* * *

I sat on that couch, for hours, his shirt cradled in my ice-cold hands. My lips were chapped and eyes burning, sinuses aching, and lips stinging from salt when tears hit the torn flesh.

"Miheal." I speak it hesitantly, my voice sounding very unused and tired. I'm wishing, and hoping, a-and _praying_ like I've never done before. And then I'm rushing to our bedroom and searching for another crucifix that should be _somewhere_ 'round here.

And my breath catches, cos there _it_ is.

The damn Catholic necklace that has _always_ graced pale, golden flesh. It was always worn proudly and the only real _mystery_ behind Mello.

The most _un-C_ atholic person to ever appear at Wammy's; sodomite and bastard, murderer and manipulative bitch who _took it_ from me, long and hard, and he could just... _moan so wantonly_ that it made even _me_ blush to hear it.

He never went to church after I met him, but he used to, in his old life, and the beads were from his baptism. A gift from his family before the rest of the story concluded, and the house of holy cards fell long and hard...

 _Long and hard_ , _fuck_.

The necklace lay there, the tip of it pointed and covered with a bit of blood-red colour, as if the object had been stabbed into someone before its owner had abandoned it as easily as Matt had been left.

" _How? It should be at the crime scene with his bod-"_ The words fall from my lips as I sat down on the bed, wishing that the shadows would part and let Mihael through.

Holding the damn thing in my shaking hands, I prayed again. I closed my foolish eyes, looked into myself and spoke out to God or Kira or whatever asshole ran the universe. I didn't ask for anything unreasonable, just for him, for his redemption and his return home.

And to him, _I was home_.

I asked it because I knew that he was feeling like a guilty piece of shit where ever he was...and although he rightly deserved that, this was _too much._

" _Please, please...oh fucking hell, Please!"_ I spoke out and fell onto my knees, shuddering as I remembered falling to my knees and moaning like that to someone a little less holier than God. He had always stroked back the hair from my eyes as I would stare up at him, and sometimes he almost looked apologetic...which was strange as I was always the one who _wanted_ to go down on him like that. He reciprocated, of course...but he never seemed to push for it from me, and his eyes would drown me, and I think that was when he would get the notion that I was delicate, innocent, something _precious_ and salvageable.

I looked into his soul and saw beauty, wanted it, craved it, _needed it..._ and he would see that awe, wonder, hunger and excitement reflected in my eyes as I watched him. But he would never think it was _for him_ that I looked this way, so untouched and wonderful. Couldn't he see that I was not only this way _for him, but_ because _of him?_

Selfish bastard couldn't see the truth staring him blindly in the face.

" _Please, I love him. I know, it sounds_ so damn stupid _when I say it like that...but you have made my life hell from day one. A-and then, you give me this_ perfect thing _and then take it away when I need it most? When we can_ finally live in peace? _You-you bastard...you're worse than_ Kira, _bastard!"_ A slight snicker builds up across the room and I wonder if I am imagining it when I feel a presence nearby; speaking and moving forward.

"I don't think _any_ God will grant your prayers if you cuss like that at them, Matty." And suddenly my stomach is dropping and I'm screaming at the figure before me, groping madly in the dark.

" _You bastard! You piece of fucking shit!_ I hate you _, I hate you so much!"_ My arms feel heavy, like lead weights, but they are swinging and tearing and destroying the vision before my broken eyes.

"Please, _please."_ I slide down and lose myself in the rocking motion, my hands clammy. The crucifix is hanging on my arm, and pieces of hair are twined within the chain and in my hands. And then I'm warm again, and there are more tears and I feel like dying would be better than being given these feelings, and the flesh before me seems like the perfect place to place blame.

"Why? _Why,_ you bastard? I love you, and-and you...fuck, _fuck!"_ And then I'm tearing at my own skin and hair, teeth gnawing at my abused lips and I'm choking on my snot and spit...not a pretty sight for the hallucination before me.

Because it _can't_ be real, right?

Life has never been that good for me; _a_ _nameless nobody._

But then he speaks and I freeze up.

" _Mail."_

The word that completes me ruins me and makes me his all at once.

"Mail, _I'm sorry,"_ and then we're a tumble of limbs and fury and pain and love and fucking gratitude and anger and regret and defeat and defiance and victory.

"How? _Why?_ How?" I stutter out as I kiss him and hold him and bite at his neck and face and smell the _home_ of him, hoping that this isn't a cruel mind-fuck of the drugs Mello had put into my system. He chuckles into my hair and I know that only the _real_ Mello could laugh (a very _real_ laugh) into my hair at a moment like this.

"Bastard, you- _how_?" I half-scream at him, pushing at his arms but still pulling him closer. He just shakes his head and I thrust the crucifix at him, which he throws over his neck, which is already bruising from my abuse. 'A _ha-ha! Take that.'_

"I can't- _don't-_ really want to say right now... _I didn't even think it would work,_ but it did. And, here I am, Matty. _I'm home_." He smiles and his tired eyes are pulling me in, looking like bottomless wishing-wells straight to hell and back again; glowing fiercely and filled with laughter, he defied death- _again._

And then I am pushing him onto his back, on our bed still unmade in the futile thought that ' _this was it,'_ only hours ago. I shudder and feel a bit sick again, but then I'm pulling his damn leather off of his hips and biting none-too-gently at his body; neck, chest, thighs. Punishing him for _being him_ , and loving him all at once. Then I'm brushing my lips against his already hard self, whispering angry words at the part of him that cares the _absolute-fucking-least_. But _I_ could care less, my eyes whip up to him and then he reaches over and turns on the string of twinkle lights I had insisted upon when first making the bedroom arrangements.

They cast a strange glow on us, ethereal and deceptive.

I'm licking him, making him pant and humming as I bring him into my mouth fully.

He's watching me, drowning me, loving me and making me angrier and more in love with him than ever.

" _Prat."_ I whisper as I come up to lick the head and then bear back down, pinning his hips as I devour him slowly, loving how good it feels and wanting more. Then he's suddenly fully on his back, no clothes left and I'm pushing into him, my bare chest and _blank_ dog-tags clinking lightly against my too-pale skin.

"I love you, I just couldn't let you _-gah...Matt-I'm sorry-uh, I love you."_ I hear him gasping out at I shove myself into him again and again, relentless and hoping to completely destroy him like he did to me just hours ago. But then he always, _always_ builds me up again and again, so I really can't say that I truly hate him.

"Mihael.. _.M-Mihael."_ I groan his name into his neck, making him real and then I'm reaching for him as I pick up speed and he's calling out to me, my name on his terrible lips and then my world explodes from my chest.

Then _everything_ goes black and I hear my world ending...and that damned angelic demon, _my damned angel,_ and fucking saviour is whispering my name once more before I know only the abyss.

* * *

The morning comes and I wake up cold and empty. My eyes are burning and are near impossible to open; almost glued shut with the grief I had cried through last night. My tongue feels heavy and my body screams at my every forced movement. I recall the false miracle of last night only for a moment before sobbing into my pillow, half-laughing at my own stupidity and almost _grateful_ for my horrible imaginings.

"Fuck, fucking _fuck_!" I curse loudly, wishing he was here to reprimand me with his sharp tongue (as if he _never_ swore, pah).

I feel around for my boxers and wonder when I had fallen asleep in this bed; naked and hopeful, only to be fooled by my own mind. That is, until I see his necklace twinkling innocently in the sunlight, next to my head. A small note is attached to it, written in an elegant hand that I could never hope to copy.

' _Out getting my well-deserved subsistence and coffee (and victory chocolate), I'll get you some breakfast too. Be prepared to leave by tonight. Love, Mi.'_

The elegant scrawl and the necklace, the "dream" of last night and the miracle of his return hit me like a ton of bricks and I found myself exclaiming loudly and then suddenly my stomach is roaring for him...Lust curls through my belly, licking my legs and I just wanted to _fuck and know he was-_ is- _alive._

He came home shortly after, tell-tale clicking chocolate in his delicate and vicious teeth. I growl as I approach him; coming forward to claim him again and again. He grins his evil, Cheshire-cat grin and tosses down his bag of goodies in order to pounce on me, and I smile as I hold him. I'm whispering his name again, to make the moment forever and real, and... _I feel sappy._

But I could care less because he is speaking my name in return, voice all desperation and hope and barely concealed lust (but why conceal it in the first place? Breakfast can always be reheated, hence God said, _'Let there be microwaves.'_ )

" _Never again_ , Mello. I won't live that again, _no matter what,_ you fucking bastard. I'll _kill you_ before you leave me again, okay? _Okay?"_ He nods his agreement, but I didn't know if it was to promise or an agreement to my threat, but I let it drop in favour of snogging him senseless while whispering sweet something's into his ear.

And it makes sense and I finally have something to be grateful for to the powers that be that have _always, always_ screwed us over.

As I'm pushing him towards the bedroom (and stripping him faster than I ever have before) I'm laughing and crying and then suddenly...I'm in him again. And he's moaning for me, looking at me like I'm the only thing that matters...like I'm _his_ salvation, _his angel._

And maybe I am.

Because us god-forsaken and practically nameless kids _deserve_ a bit of heaven in hell _; we deserve a saviour and a home._

"Mello, Mihael _...never again."_

"I know, Matty _. I'm here, Mail._ I'm home. _"_


End file.
